Follow Me Home (4 page)

‘Ten seconds. I was right,' I say, laughing.

‘What are you going on about?' Claire frowns.

‘Janet and I were guessing how long it would be before you mentioned something related to the W-word.'

Claire chuckles. ‘I don't talk about it that much . . . Do I?'

‘I don't think a minute goes by without you mentioning it.'

‘I can't help it. It isn't long until the wedding and there's so much to do.' Claire hardly stops to draw breath. ‘Anyway, I've seen these amazing gowns in petrol blue.'

‘Are you sure you want blue?'

‘You don't like the idea?'

‘I thought you wanted the bridesmaids in pink.'

‘I did, but the blue will have much more impact. You will look amazing, I promise.' Claire changes the subject. ‘Are you up for the weigh-in at fat club tonight? I thought we'd go to the pub afterwards for a white wine soda – to celebrate, or drown our sorrows.'

‘I'm sorry, I can't make tonight,' I say quickly. ‘I've had a fat week. Living with my gran is no good for the diet.'

‘Oh Zara.' Claire sounds disappointed. ‘I'm relying on you to keep me motivated.'

‘Next week, I promise.' We've been on a mission to lose weight and live healthily for the past six months,
joining a slimming group as part of the build-up to the wedding. I check my weight on the scales here at the practice while awaiting my first appointment, grimacing as I take off a few pounds to account for my clothes and breakfast. I'm a size sixteen to my sister's ten or twelve and for a health professional I'm not setting a very good example.

I have a few notes from Nicci who has seen Rosie, a teenager, for a pregnancy test that turned out be positive. She's approximately nine weeks gone and has a supportive mother, but there's no mention of the baby's dad, apart from the fact he's eighteen years old. Janet has arranged for a twelve-week scan and has entered the booking-in appointment in my diary.

I call Rosie, who's accompanied by an older woman, through to the nurse's room.

‘Come in.' She's only seventeen, and who knows how she will cope, but I don't judge. People have sex and contraceptive accidents can happen to anyone. They are part of life and there have been many times when I've wished one had happened to me.

‘Can Mum stay?' Rosie asks as the woman with her introduces herself.

‘If you'd like her to. Pull up another chair, Michelle.' I've already read the notes, but I take another look. ‘So you're nine weeks pregnant, Rosie?'

‘I think so.' She's slim and has her hair in a sleek dark bob that suits her elfin features. ‘I'm not sure exactly, but I've missed my period twice. The first time I thought it was due to stress – I've been doing my mocks.'

‘She's supposed to be doing her exams in May,' her mother says.

‘There's no reason why you can't carry on as planned,' I say, keeping my focus on Rosie. ‘When you have your scan, we can check the baby's healthy and see if the measurements tie in with your dates.'

‘I'm living with my parents for now.' Rosie bites her lip when I ask about her home address.

‘What do you mean, for now?' her mother says.

‘You know Dad's threatening to kick me out.'

‘Of course he isn't. He's upset, that's all. He'll come round. I'll make sure he does, anyway.'

‘Are you planning to continue with your studies when the baby comes?' I ask tentatively.

‘No,' Rosie says at the same time as her mother says, ‘Yes, of course you are, and I'll look after the little one while you go to uni.'

‘Mum, it's my baby. I'm going to look after it.' Rosie strokes her flat belly. Her complexion is pale beneath a layer of orange foundation and fake tan and her eyes are dark with exhaustion and mascara. She's wearing a top which reveals more than a hint of bra strap, and a pair of the shortest shorts I've ever seen over a pair of thick tights, and wedges.

‘You'll soon discover you can't do everything,' her mother says. ‘You think this will be so easy.'

Rosie rolls her eyes. ‘You managed to look after a baby.'

‘I know, but it was different for me. I was a lot older and I was married.'

‘Don't keep going on about how I'm going to be
a single parent. It's happened. I'm pregnant and I'm going to have this baby and I'm not going to let you hijack it. Get over it.' Rosie stares resentfully at the floor.

I don't say anything, but I think I understand both Rosie's determination to stand on her own two feet, and her mum's disappointment and concern for her daughter's future.

I check Rosie's blood pressure and take a blood sample.

‘I want a homebirth,' she announces when I'm filling in the request form for the lab.

‘It's a little early to think about that,' I point out.

‘I have thought about it, and I don't want to go to hospital. I hate hospitals. And I've read up on it on the Internet and I'm entitled to a homebirth as long as it's safe for the baby.'

She knows her own mind, I think good-humouredly as I suggest we get on with testing the urine sample she's brought in with her, and do a physical examination.

‘Mum, I want you to wait outside now,' she says firmly.

‘I want to be here. You shouldn't have to go through any of this on your own.'

‘I'm not on my own. I have Zara here. Please, this is private.' She pauses. ‘I haven't taken my clothes off in front of you since I was three. Go away!'

Reluctantly, Michelle gathers up the coats and bag and leaves the room.

Rosie breathes a sigh of relief. ‘OMG, she drives me mad,' she groans.

‘She wants the best for you and the baby.'

‘Yeah.' She bites her lip. ‘I've been lucky – Dad went ballistic when he found and Mum wasn't happy but she's calmed down now.'

‘So, was this pregnancy planned?' There's a question on my booking-in sheet about asking the pregnant woman if she's ever had fertility problems – I skip it when Rosie confirms she fell pregnant while on the Pill.

‘I tried the implant,' she says, ‘but I didn't get on with it. Don't start going on at me about . . .' she raises her hands and holds her forefingers and middle fingers straight like rabbit's ears, bending them to indicate inverted commas, ‘the options. I want this baby more than anything.' Her eyes grow bright with sudden tears. ‘It's been awful. My mum told the dad's mum that she'd make sure I got rid of the baby, and when I said I wasn't going to get rid of it, she told her she wouldn't let the dad or his family have any contact with the baby.'

‘It must be very difficult for you,' I say. ‘The last thing you need is to be in the middle of a family feud. You must let me know if you want any support.'

It's a personal and sensitive question, but I ask her if the baby's father is supportive of the pregnancy.

Rosie falls silent for a while before responding: ‘My boyfriend ended it when I told him.'

‘I'm sorry.' I try to put myself in the place of an eighteen-year-old boy who's just been told his girlfriend is pregnant. I can imagine his sense of panic and fear of responsibility.

‘He can do what he likes. I don't care any more,' Rosie says, but it's clear from the vehemence of her denial that she does.

‘I understand that it's tough now but, for what it's worth, think about keeping him in the loop about what's going on. You never know when you might need each other – not as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as parents.'

‘Mum says I shouldn't have anything to do with him.' She smiles suddenly. ‘Not that I've ever taken any notice of what my parents say.'

‘Let's concentrate on you and the baby. You two are VIPs. If you'd like to make your way over to the scales we'll check your weight, height and the size of your bump. Do you have a bump yet?'

She looks down. ‘Not yet, but my boobs are killing me.'

‘That's perfectly normal,' I say, as I put on gloves to test the urine sample that Rosie's brought along with her. That's all normal too, apart from some grit at the bottom of the pot. I take a closer look – yes, I'm a midwife, it's what I do – and find that it's green and sparkly. ‘All is well with the sample, except for the fact that you seem to be passing glitter,' I say, amused.

Rosie blushes. ‘I've got my Christmas knickers on. Mum said I should wear decent underwear for my appointment.'

‘My gran says I should wear clean pants at all times, in case I end up in A&E.'

Rosie smiles for a second time.

‘Here's my phone number.' I hand her one of my
cards. ‘If you ever need to talk, or have anything you want to ask me, no matter how stupid it seems, call me.'

‘Thank you. You're pretty cool for . . . an older person.'

‘Thanks, but I'm not that old,' I say dryly.

‘What I mean is that I'm glad you're going to be my midwife.'

‘That's good, because we're going to be seeing quite a lot of each other in the next few months. I'll see you at the next appointment. Make sure you bring the pics from the scan with you when you get them – I can't wait to see this baby of yours.'

‘I will,' she says, getting up. ‘Goodbye.'

Having seen Rosie and completed six more antenatal checks, I spend some time at the Midwifery Centre in Talymouth catching up with phone calls and paperwork before I head out on my rounds, visiting three mums and their newborn babies before going up to the farm.

It's gone three and growing dark and I'm running a little late. I call Emily on the hands-free, but the mobile battery's flat and then the car starts to pull to one side and I just know I'm going to have to stop. I pull in tight to the hedge along the lane to inspect the damage, a nail driven deep into the tread of one of the front tyres, which is completely flat. I try pumping the tyre up, but it deflates instantly. I start to change the wheel, but when I try to loosen the nuts, they won't budge, so there's only one thing for it. I'll have to walk the mile or so to the farmhouse, see Daisy and Emily and
borrow a longer spanner from Murray. It isn't great. It's freezing, I'm allergic to exercise, and I should be sitting in the warm, cuddling my baby niece.

When I begin to make my descent on the other side of the hill, a black pick-up comes rattling along with its headlamps cutting swathes of light through the shadows, but although I'm hoping for a lift, I don't think the driver sees me, because it keeps coming, forcing me to step onto the verge where I trip, lose my balance and land on my bottom in the mud. The driver stops and reverses back up as I'm pinching myself to check that I'm still alive.

‘What the . . .?' I catch the gleam of a pair of eyes and the chiselled outline of a jaw with a dimple on the chin as a man leans out of the window. ‘What do you think you're doing, Emily? It's dark. I didn't see you until the last minute.'

‘I'm sorry,' I stammer, completely shaken up as I regain my feet.

‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.'

‘I'm on my way to the farm to visit Emily and the baby. My car has a puncture and I can't undo the nuts to change the wheel.' The garage in Talyton must have done them up too tightly. I move closer. ‘Hello, Lewis.'

‘You aren't Emily? You're Emily's sister, Zara, the midwife.' The driver's voice softens. ‘I couldn't understand how she could have got down here so quickly, seeing I've just left her up at the farm. I thought I was hallucinating. Look, I'll give you a lift then I'll come back and have a look at the tyre. Jump in.' Lewis leans across and opens the passenger door
for me. Not one, but two collie dogs with wild eyes and massive white teeth come piling towards me and my heart starts hammering furiously. I freeze.

‘Thanks for the offer, but I'll walk,' I blurt out.

‘You can't be serious? You'll either die from hypothermia or get run over. Get in!'

‘Really, I'm fine.' My voice wobbles slightly.

‘Am I going to have to get out, pick you up and throw you in the back like one of the ewes?'

I shake my head, even though the idea of Lewis manhandling me appeals far more than it should.

‘Zara, I hate to ask, but are you completely mad?'

One of the dogs barks. I recoil.

‘I don't do dogs – they make me nervous,' I say. ‘I know, it's pathetic, isn't it?'

‘Not really,' Lewis says, sounding unconvinced. ‘Let me put the dogs in the back. Wait by the tree.' He jumps out, sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles, at which the dogs follow him round to the rear of the vehicle. ‘Jump in,' he calls, and I'm not sure if he's talking to me or the dogs, but I get in anyway, sliding into the passenger seat.

‘They can't get you now,' Lewis says in a teasing voice as he gets back in and turns on the engine. ‘Not that they would,' he adds quickly, perhaps noticing the look of horror on my face. ‘They are the softest creatures on earth.' He goes on to apologise for the smell of wet dog, sheep and straw as we roar off up the hill. I had a ewe in the back earlier.'

‘Oh?' I'm not sure how to respond. ‘If you don't mind me saying, that sounds a bit weird.'

He grins. ‘I could have found a better way to put that, if I'd realised how your mind works. Give us your key.'

‘What for?'

‘So I can change that wheel while you're with Emily and the baby. You're looking worried. Are you afraid I'll steal your car, or something?'

‘Well, I hardly know you,' I say archly.

‘We can soon fix that. Come on, give me the key.'

I drop it into his outstretched hand.

‘Thank you,' he says as we reach the farm and pull into the yard.

‘No, thank
you.
If you hadn't turned up, I'd still be walking down the lane in the dark.' I hesitate, my hand on the door-handle.